


Taken

by Marquise



Category: Rope (1948)
Genre: M/M, Murder Kink, some people prepare for murder differently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 13:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: Brandon has a way with him.





	Taken

The implements — the rope, the chest, the copious amounts of alcohol — sat in the other room, demanding Phillip’s undivided attention.

Such a thing was, at this moment, quite difficult. He found it was getting harder and harder to focus on the weight of the future, on the sickening guilt that had already taken over his mind, when Brandon was so focused on him. Brandon had him pinned, nails digging into the taut muscles of his thighs, lips wrapped around his length, tongue pressed against the underside as he slowly, fucking  _slowly_ , administered a form of pleasure that he was far too skilled at. His lover controlled all of his attention and he couldn’t help but feel that this was the point — to have him so fixated on the fall of Brandon’s hair across his forehead, on the way he stared up at Phillip as he mouthed the head of his cock, that he could not think of what was to be done.

He should hate him for this, despise him for this blatant act of manipulation, and he knew that he would. Later, when he could think, when he did not have a mouth hot on him and skilled fingers sliding between his legs, when he did not have a man before him that knew how to play him all too well.

“Brandon,” he choked out, the name holding a hell of a lot of weight. It was an oath, a plea, a prayer. It was accompanied by Phillip’s fingers in his hair, pressing the mouth down, needing more in a desperate move that he should be ashamed off. Brandon resisted; he always did when it was utterly clear that he had the upper hand. He pulled away, lips wet, smiling that coiled smile of his, his fingers remaining when they were, the power in his grip unmistakable.

“Yes?” he asked, as if it weren’t obvious what was meant of him. Phillip felt a familiar pang of resentment, the acknowledgement of being toyed with, but his body betrayed him once again. His hips rose of their own volition, chasing after pleasure and shared need. His chosen his eyes and arched his back, trying to regain some control.

He felt Brandon move over him, reaching into the bedside drawer to find the oil. The sound of it being uncorked, the smell of it, caused Phillip’s skin to prickle in anticipation. He lifted a leg, pressed it into the space above Brandon’s hip, and opened his eyes just as the other man slide a sickened hand down.

“_Christ._” There was nothing unusual in the feeling. They had done this a million times before, in as many combinations and situations as one could imagine. Yet each time — _each time _— something in it stole Phillip’s breath. He held Brandon’s darkened gaze, shared his sense of expectation. In those moments the resentment bled away until it was nothing more than a hum in the ear.

Brandon opened him up easily, first one finger and then another, his breathing clearly shallow. Phillip pressed back, shameless, hands reaching out to claw at the other man’s arms, his back, marking him where he would. When Brandon finally entered him the familiar stretch and weight was just too much; he cried out, not for the first time thankful that they lived alone, that they had barricaded themselves against the world.

In the back of his mind he knew he should feel some shame at being so easy, at the lack of resistance, at how often he had allowed himself to be used. It was impossible for him to fully commit to that, though, not when Brandon felt so _right_, not when every nerve of his body was screaming in pleasure. _If only someone could see you now_, Brandon had whispered in his ear once when he had him pinned against a wall in their old dorm room. There had been a degree of wonder in his voice then and it stayed with Phillip, veined under his skin.

Filled to the hilt Brandon laid over him, lips pressed against his ear, hips making a maddeningly slow circular movement. Phillip tried to move him faster but it was useless; Brandon did everything at his own pace. His cock, still hard between them, sought friction on their stomachs and it was with a sigh that Brandon favored him that relief, wrapping long fingers around the shaft, pulling him in time with his thrusts, playing him as he always did. Phillip’s world was nothing but light and heat and _movement_, his body tangled against Brandon’s, his whole being open and exposed.

“J-just think of when we take him together,” Brandon mutters into his ear, teeth grazing the soft flesh there. Phillip can’t explain in but something both sickening and hot flares up in him with those words. He finds himself raising his legs without warning, changing the angle, giving him deeper access. Brandon must note this for his laughs, breathlessly, and gives his cock a brutal pull.

“Think of h-his f-face.” The words are gentle, almost, but there is a bite in all his movements. Phillip squeezes his eyes closed and pictures it despite himself. He finds nothing more than a bizarre sense of pleasure in the thought, in the image of David’s wide eyes. He wishes to tamp it down but it cannot, not when Brandon is doing _that_, not when they were tangled together and his mind full of his lover’s influence.

“I-imagine him. K-knowing h-he’s been taken by two - two - c-coksuckers.” The words came with a moan this time and Phillip feels it in his chest — he’s unsure, in fact, that the noise did not come from him. He finds himself twisting just enough to catch Brandon's mouth, biting at his lips as the images flood his brain. What was once disgust was now pure, amoral arousal. He can almost feel the rope in his hands, biting into the flesh of the three of them. He can see the fear in David’s eyes, the ecstasy in Brandon’s, and it goes straight to his cock.

He doesn’t wish to think about it too deeply. Brandon pulls back and there is blood on his lips that he laps up without a word. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, his body controlled and relentless in its use of Phillip’s. “I-I should take you then,” he mutters, not blinking. “Bend you over the chest. It’s our right.”

And that’s what does it. Phillip feels his cock jump, squeezes his eyes shut against the wash of sensation, screams into the emptiness of the room. Brandon is shuttering against him, laughing or gasping he does not know, his movement losing all sense of order as Phillip grips him. The warmth of his seed spreads against his stomach, against Brandon’s hand, and then he is full himself as Brandon loses it, biting down on his shoulder in ecstasy, drawing another scream from an already too-raw throat.

They remain like that for sometime, sweat and semen cooling on their skin, bodies still entangled and too sensitive. Phillip finds himself slowly coming to his senses, reality encroaching once more into their world. The weight of the implements is felt again; the danger in Brandon’s hands in all too clear.

When Brandon pulls away it is with a smile he knows too well. He kisses him roughly and Phillip knows that there is no coming back from this, that he is well and truly lost.


End file.
